


There Is Nothing You Can Do That I Haven't Done To Myself

by eon13



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Slow Burn, Time Skips, depressed character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eon13/pseuds/eon13
Summary: Dib is an outcast among humans—ostracized as a child, growing into his teens a loner, he never felt like his home was on Earth. Doubting his self-worth and goals, he moves through life untouched until his past rivalry with an old friend in changed by undisclosed feelings either want to discuss but both hold. As they slowly plan for the beginning of the end, they must either put their thoughts into actions or risk moving into separate paths as lonely as they started.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. In Where Emotions Begin

The window shut harshly as the heavy storm wind slammed against the side. Dib barely had enough time to move his foot in as it did, clamping shut. He panted softly, pushing his hood down as he ignored the robot parents weak and static welcome to his entrance. Gir was on the couch, per usual, watching something Dib would probably hear from the basement. With his quick hello, he disappeared to the rug by the sink before slipping down into the floor on a metal platform—he had since helped his hopeless comrade make his “house” look more like a home and less like a collection of human artifacts. It only took a few seconds, as soon Dib walked the long stretch of metal sheets before putting his book bag down.

Zim didn’t look over from his hunched form, the sparks of electricity bouncing off of his face reflector as he melted two pieces of shiny material together. Dib couldn’t tell if the pieces were human or Irken, but they were a vivid blue and seemed to puff up in cold vapor. He hummed softly, grabbing and opening the laptop from his book bag. Somehow, it was still dry, as if the protective coat on the fabric of the backpack really did work the way Zim told him it would—he was still getting used to their agreement, a compromise almost. His hazel eyes darted over as Zim stood up, stretching and taking off the mask. 

Dib learned a lot about alien bodies over the last few years: Zim grew, but it was at a snail’s pace compared to humans, and still barely reached grown-up Dib’s shoulder. It was why, when Zim followed the Tallest, their height meant something—they were old, a cumulation of good health and successful missions that lead them to years and eons of being able to grow in height. It made sense, but it also didn’t take into the account that not all Irkens worked in positions similar to Zim and Tak. Some didn’t have to work such dangerous jobs, and relied on the equivalent of desk jobs to reach tall stature. He recalled the expression of pride Zim had when he asked him if he’d grown some, to which he received this entire lecture on Irkens. It was one of the benefits of having such an egotistical partner-in-crime. 

Zim looked over, iridescent red eyes flicking from the computer screen to Dib’s face. “You’re soaked,” he said, frowning some. He moved a rubbery, gloved hand to Dib’s shoulder, picking at the wet fabric and pulling it away from the shirt beneath it. 

“Storm is coming through,” he replied simply, turning the screen to Zim. “Do you think this’ll work?” he asked, bringing up a file from his father’s computer. It was of some type of fancy, useless invention; one that could be altered if done correctly. And while Dib had the ability to make it, he didn’t have time or the materials. On the other hand, Zim had the materials, but not the base plan or the time. Together, they could solve their problems. 

Coming over, he quickly looked at the buttons of the keyboard, clicking the arrows keys with a single finger. “It…could work. But what were you thinking about?” he hummed, his thick antenna lowering as he looked over the pages. Dib had long since been paying more attention to them—they were quirky, in a way, showing more emotion than Zim’s face while also doing half of Zim’s sensory input. Dib started reading the other like a book over time—and Zim was focused, now, with little intent on “fudging numbers” or fucking up any plan Dib had for his own sake. 

“I was thinking of a TV,” Dib said softly. “But with the software you talked about earlier, the one that links to each other over long distances. That way we’ll know we’ve covered the planet by the time it reaches global release,” he explained. “At least one person in every neighborhood will own it, given my father’s title.” 

Nodding as the black feelers raised and lower slowly, Zim nodded and turned to him. “It… could work.” 

Dib hummed in agreement. He knew it would work. So did Zim, but over the last few years he’s also changed. He was no longer confident in every plan he hatched, every idea he made a reality. This tentative nature always struck Dib at the strangest of times, like right now, when he knew that the programming of Irken technology with the Membrane catchphrase was sure to lock in at least two million suckers all over the globe. They didn’t even need that many people, if Dib was honest—by his calculations, only a few hundred would do, since the linking program was invented for Irkens planets away.

Zim stood up, extending spindle spider legs to look into the now-organized sections of materials: metals (both Irken and human), batteries, circuit boards, other metal pieces Dib hadn’t seen before… they were laid out in champers, and while Zim started pulling pieces for a prototype in an unspoken agreement, Dib lost the long and soaked coat to pull up his sleeves and grab his gloves. They worked like a machine, now, so used to how the other focused and created that they fell into a balance, silently beginning on the last project Dib would finish on Earth. 

∆∆∆

The ground was cold and rough as Dib’s face smashed into it, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. He panted, covering his face with his arms as he felt the kicks of the three jocks surrounding him start another brigade of violence on his thin body. The quarterback laughed, gushing over the prodigy of not seeing the weak-limped Dib in class again for the next few days—his father was the chief of police, and he had every right to believe his father would bail the football stars out of trouble. And Dib knew this too, clutching the back of his head as the jocks backed off, spitting on the bloody and bruised form beneath them. They disappeared into the night after hopping into the quarterback’s car, heading towards the house party they were missing.

Dib waited a while, heavily panting as he slowly sat up and moved to hold his face. Blood covered his hand as he removed it, and he picked up the broken pieces of his glasses to shove into his pocket before leaving. His bag was torn, his face a mess, his hair mushed against his head as he walked home. The cold air of winter was a blessing and a curse; his pain was numb, but his fingers and toes felt frozen. He paused, looking up at the long walk home as cars past him on his right—why should he go home? What was the point? Gaz would be out with her friends (which he was shocked she made), his father wouldn’t be home… he minus well stay out, letting the cool air melt his body into a soft numbness.

So, he turned, moving back down the road and kept going. He knew the city like the back of his hand, and the steps he took were mindless but predetermined. He saw the buildings thin, the sky open up from city smog to light pollution to stars. The path under his feet was no longer paved, instead dirt or gravel as he moved towards the park. The old park used to be a hotspot for people when he was younger. He remembers being twelve and heading out with Gaz to hunt for yetis in the high hills, his imagination getting the best of him. He had since stopped caring for finding fictitious monsters, instead focusing on the ones at his very doorstep—plans after this senior year, where to work, if he wanted to go to college…. 

Slowly sitting down on the swing set, his hands touched the rusted metal rings before opening up his back despite the large tear and pulling out a first aid kit. It was small, and mostly for him later at night than right now, but he opened it regardless and began cleaning up his face and hands. The band aids had run out a while ago, and he was too lazy to purchase another box, but the gauze made good for wrapping up his arms from the scrapes of his last fight. He sighed, putting the box away before staring out at the stars. He threw his bag back some, moving to softly swing, thinking back to the times before high school. 

He never got along with his class. He never really had friends, if he was honest. His family were like celebrities, but no one wanted anything to do with “weird kid Dib.” They all flocked to his sister, the reclusive yet interesting girl who beat most boys at their own games, instead of him. And he… couldn’t blame them. He was loud, obsessive, immature. Sometimes he couldn’t even handle himself, how could he think someone else could? He bit his lip, shaking off the feeling of tears while he focused on swinging. 

One push up, one fall down. Part of his body felt the need to let go of the chains, feel the feeling of free-falling until he plastered his face into the snow left on the unsalted ground. The feeling of being weightless… It hit him hard at times like these, where he was lost on how or where to turn. He burned his bridges long ago. He didn’t have a human close to him that he felt emotionally attached to. His mind was dark, and the world was darker—the two blended into these shades of grey where Dib resigned, his feet stuck in the same place as when he was 14, 15, 16, 17… How long would he stay here? Would ever be able to find the gossamer’s strand to his own salvation? 

Dib was pulled from his reverie as he heard the crunches of footsteps and the mechanical clicks muffed by fabric. He paused, stopping his leg pumps to push the tips of his boots into the ground and stop himself. He looked, frowning some. The sky outlined the two figures, the moon bouncing a soft glow off of their features. He wrinkled his nose some. 

“You know, it’s still a bit weird for you to walk around without your disguise on. Someone gonna see and you’re gonna be shit outta luck,” he said, his words slurring as his lip was swollen. His eye was already pressed close, no doubt probably black and purple. 

Zim looked up, the hood of his human hoodie pulled over his head, his antennae barely peeking out from their curved location behind his head. “I know that, Dib-filth, but no one is out tonight,” he snapped, but his voice lacked venom. Dib rolled his eyes as Zim walked over, removing his hands from his pockets, using his sleeves to wipe off the water from the chains before sitting on the swing next to Dib. Dib looked forward, barely watching from the corner of his eye but still watching. “Which is why I ask why you are out.” 

Dib sighed. “What, so you can send the jocks on me again?” he asked, turning to look at the alien. His green skin looked such an old shade in the half-light of the moon but his eyes still were as bright as before, almost internally glowing.

Zim makes a face, the ends of his black antennae rising a bit. “I didn’t do that, why would I?” he hissed, but again, lacking venom. “I could beat the shit out of you myself if I wanted to!” 

Dib huffed, turning his head. “Yeah, sure, like you’ve even tried recently,” he said back, and Zim fell silent—their rivalry was long-since dead, something they recounted on multiple times at strange points like this one. Apparently, Dib has a habit of finding Zim and Zim had a habit of finding Dib., despite being quite popular. Funny, how Zim got along better with the people of his own kind over himself. Zim had friends, from what he saw—girls who knew his made-up birthday, guys who knew what his favorite drink was. Even compared to an actual alien, Dib was still the outcast. He glanced over at Zim’s face, blushing softly before turning back to the ground in front of him. 

It was times like these Dib had to admit that Zim is the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend, closer than the actual humans that alienated him. They had, for better or worse, been together nearly every day as kids before high school started, and their meetings slowly devolved into Russian roulettes of encounters—coming up at the worst times but somehow bringing with it a sense of connection and peace that Dib wasn’t sure he really had before. He’s always been the odd one out, too loud for adults and too different for kids, so he found himself in a group all his own—until Zim came. Despite his feelings towards it, Zim and Dib were two sides of the same coin; both deemed failures of their own societies, lost in an abyss of fake identities and useless intellect. 

Zim broke the silence with a huff, crossing his arms and turning to Dib. “Why does your planet get so cold? Haven’t your kind invented whole-surface standards of warmth?” 

Dib chuckled softly, his mind being pulled from his own pain to tease Zim, telling him to go back to his own planet if he wanted warmth. This caused a one-sided argument, which ended only in a few minutes the soft explanations of how to properly use a swing and what planets are best for feeling weightless. 

∆∆∆

Dib’s back was sore as he leaned back on the couch, a cold beer in his hand as he looked over the dark living room. Zim wasn’t even really sure what beer was, just that the man at the checkout line said it was good refreshment, so Dib was stuck drinking these until Zim went out again for groceries. It was odd to Dib to think about a hastily-disguised Zim with a grocery list buying food, but he had to eat as well—just mostly sugar and carbs, which was packed onto his kitchen shelves, but still food. He has asked Zim before why he didn’t just make a machine to make his food, but Zim was deflective with answering, so Dib left it as Zim enjoying a small piece of human culture. 

Zim soon followed up, grabbing a sugary drink from the fridge before moving to sit on the couch, his body slipping into the soft fabric of the well-used couch. Both ignored the spot to the side were Gir sat, the stains of cheese, grease, and ICEE leaving the marks of Gir’s favorite spot. Dib looked over, chuckling softly and looking at the “sleeping” Gir now on the floor, wrapped up in a disgusting blanket. “How long do you think he’ll be out?” he asked, looking at Zim. 

The alien looked over, his shining red eyes glancing to Gir. “Gir? Ah, probably all night and until tomorrow afternoon. He hates the late night shows and early morning cartoons,” he said, taking a sip of his sugary cocktail. 

Dib nodded softly, taking another sip of his beer. Tart, but nice. It was ice cold and helped him relax some—he wouldn’t dare drink more than two, and he had a pretty high tolerance to alcohol after spending his sophomore year at home with his father’s unlocked alcohol cabinet. Gaz tattled on him after finding the empty bottles in his room and he was grounded with the alcohol thrown away. He turned, watching Zim stared at the now-finished ceiling. 

His face was smooth, the darkness making his skin tone almost look human-like. His eyes shimmered red as he blinked, pausing the light red glow over his features. His pak made a soft whirring sound, glowing a similar red to his eyes but at a brighter hue. His clothes have since been changed from traditional Irken attire to something more natural for the human culture he was a part of: a dark pink hoodie with a hole to stick his pak out of, human jeans in black, and modded human boots. It always made Dib grin looking at his clothes. He looked like a teen from his body shape and outfit if you took away the green skin, large red eyes, antennae, and three-fingered hands. 

Slowly, he moved over a bit closer, looking at the ceiling. “What are you looking at?” he said, taking another sip of his drink.

“Ah... I’m just going to miss this house,” he said softly. “It’s weird how attached I got to it. I never thought I’d… want to settle down somewhere.”

Dib nodded, watching the white ceiling as if it would do something other than be a ceiling. “Yeah… this place has a lot of memories. Like when I tried to break in,” he said, chuckling softly as he looked over to Zim again. To his surprise, Zim was looking at him, his face twitching into surprise as he shot his head to look at the ceiling again. 

Biting his lip, he took another sip of his drink. “H-hey…” he mumbled softly, and Zim’s body turned rigid. “Why… do you do that?” he asked softly. “Keep looking at me that way?”

Zim paused as his pak swirled louder, his antennae flattening against his head. “You… do it too…” he said softly, his face relaxing some. “I see you doing it. You can’t blame me when you are guilty of the same crimes!” 

Dib chuckled. “When did looking at the other all weird become a crime?” he asked softly. He then paused, looking at him again. “W-what do you mean I look at you weird? You looked at me weird first!” he snapped. 

Zim sat up, turning to him. “I did not! You were the one who did it first!” 

Getting equally as upset, Dib turned to him the same way. “No I didn’t, I just caught you, like, a few weeks doing to it!”

“I caught you doing it last year!” Zim snapped back. Dib paused—was he really doing it that long? He shook his head some, taking another sip of his drink. He never did it! Why would he? 

Why would he? Because Zim’s been the only friend he’s ever had. Because Dib has never aligned well with any human. Because Zim and him have softened together, becoming nearly equals. The two had gone from enemies to friends to… something else. Dib couldn’t label it. They lean on each other, Dib almost moving into Zim’s house, sharing projects and space. Zim slowly became a comfort for him, someone he felt relaxed around. He didn’t feel the need to be weightless when he was with Zim. 

Dib bit his lip, shaking softly as the overwhelming feeling of… something washed over his chest. He looked up, Zim seemingly as lost in his thoughts and emotions as Dib was. He gnawed on his lip, putting his beer on the floor slowly. Zim watched him, following for some reason. The two looked at each other, Dib’s face turning into a dark red as Zim’s antennae shook and trembled, his pak whirling. Dib took a deep breath and moved a bit closer. Why was he doing this? Why was Zim leaning in as well? It’s not like he knew what Dib was going to do, he was just mimicking Dib. 

Slowly, Dib came closer to Zim, and the two were face-to-face as Dib pressed a bit further, his lips pressing against Zim’s. He felt the other tremble, pressing closer. Zim’s pak whirled louder, overtaking the static sound of the world as Dib moved a hand to feel Zim’s side, Zim gripping his shoulders. They moved closer, Dib shaking—it was messy, imperfect, and so right. It left his mind that Zim and Dib were different beings, that Zim was from a different planet, that the two would only have a small fraction of Zim’s life together. Dib pulled back slowly as Zim panted, his mouth softly burning but still he looked pleased. 

Dib blushed as Zim moved closer again, and he closed his eyes to fall back into the new chest-fluttering feeling. 

∆∆∆

Dib’s hand wavered, but soon knocked on the hard door. It didn’t feel like wood, but a mix of plastic and metal. As it popped open, he saw the familiar green alien stepping out from the kitchen as the two robots parents rolled over, shaking as they repeated their familiar lines of “welcome home, son!” to everyone at the door. Usually Zim has them turned off, but Dib had to guess Zim didn’t pay much attention to them recently. 

Zim pushed the robots to the side, putting his hands on his little body—he looked like a teen girl in a movie, looming over the other girl in the bathroom he was about to bully. “Dib, you are late! And you woke up my robots somehow!” he said, his antennae high as his to make himself seem bigger. 

Dib snorted, rolling his eyes. “I thought you had turned them off like last time,” he said, stepping into the home. It looked the same as he remembered from last time—wires and large tubes hanging from the ceiling, the walls old colors of purple, the toilet in the middle of the kitchen. Like a mash of everything Zim thought human houses would have, but without the logical placements that Dib knew. But it didn’t seem to both Zim; he traversed the small landscape of his flooring to his toilet. 

“In!” he snapped, stepping into the water. But, Dib knew, it obviously wasn’t or Zim would be burned to a crisp like with rain or snow or drinks. Still… getting into a toilet was not on his to-do list today. 

“Zim, that’s a toilet. I’m not getting in that,” he said, frowning. 

Zim looked a mix of irritated, frustrated, and confused. “Why not? It goes to the lab, and if you want to get down there you have to go in here!” 

Dib frowned, rolling his eyes. “Do you know what that’s used for?” 

“No… Zim doesn’t need to know! It is just for appearance.” 

“Zim, people use them to… piss and shit.” 

“To what?” 

“Piss and—” 

“Zim heard you, Zim just doesn’t know what that means!” 

It took almost an hour, but the thick-skulled (thick-shelled? Dib wasn’t sure.) alien to reel back in vile disgust. He asked why humans were so gross—Dib couldn’t answer. Apparently a lot of aliens had moved past the use for bathrooms, as Zim was perplexed on how a society modernly advanced hadn’t moved past this biological stage. Dib asked how Irkens got rid of waste, and they didn’t have any, it seems: the diet of sugar and carbs made it so that their little bodies used up all of the food while their pak took care of the rest of the leftovers to function. 

Slowly, the plans to head into the lab were abandoned; Dib was much more interested in what Zim had to say on the biology and culture of different intergalactic species, while Zim was more than happy to boast his “intense knowledge” on other planets. They found themselves on the floor of the kitchen, eating chips and donuts while Zim talked about his travels: Foodcourtia, the Irken empire, the regulations of driving spacecrafts, how paks worked, why Zim didn’t sleep. Dib glanced out the window, watching the stars fill the sky as Zim told him about everything he ever wanted to know. 

He didn’t know why Zim was suddenly so open. He didn’t care, either. If Zim had plans to kill him after this, he would have done it the first few times he came over. It seemed like Zim just liked to talk, and Dib liked to listen. It was hours of discussion, and Zim even explained alien jokes and Dib finding it… quite funny, he was surprised. Dib, then, answered Zim’s questions on humans: why they loved meat, why they survived on water, how they grew so fast.

By the end of the night, Dib and Zim had more than enough chatter and fell into silence. It was the first time Dib was able to hear the sounds of Zim’s pak, and look over him without feeling like he was gazing at a monster. Beneath all of his airs, Zim was still a… a person. He had thoughts and feelings about the future. His goals were still aligned with the society he was raised to protect and carry. Dib hadn’t ever thought about Zim in such a soft light before, and from the way Zim was equally as quiet, he must have been thinking as well.

The morning sun was rising through the windows, and Dib stretched, yawning. “Zim… I-I should probably head home. I have school today,” he said, standing up. Zim had long since been in and out of their high school classes, sometimes missing for weeks on end, but the school apparently let it fly due to his “skin condition.” 

Standing up with him, Zim nodded. “Right. Human school,” he mumbled. “Sometimes I forgot you worm babies must be educated for years.” 

Dib chuckled. “So were you, from what you told me.” 

“Nonsense! Zim passed with flying colors early in Zim’s schooling!” he said, his antennae rising. “Zim would show you but I do not have to stoop to your low levels!” 

Laughing, Dib smiled. “Sure, Zim, okay, well… a-are you free tomorrow?” he asked, grabbing his bookbag and heading to the door. Zim nodded slowly, his face contorting into a weird expression for a few seconds—Dib couldn’t put his finger on it. “Could I… come over again?” 

Zim paused, looking at his… now former-enemy. “I suppose…” he said, waving his hand. “But you’ll have to bring those little mushy white cylinders.” 

“Mushy—… you mean marshmallows?” 

“Yes! And bring as many packs as your pathetic human arms can carry!” 

Dib grinned, nodding and opening the door. “Of course, as many as I can carry,” he repeated back, leaving. 

He didn’t see the look of surprise from Zim as he walked home. Or the embarrassed noises that came deep from Zim’s chest as he fell to the couch, curling up and thinking about the soft look of adoration while he spoke, the questions and comments that made Zim feel like he meant something to someone. Zim’s pak was whirling, his segmented body rushing with something he kept trying to push down, to ignore, but every chance Zim got to be closer to Dib he took, like a moth to a flame. Dib was intoxicating to him, and his palms felt shaky and his antennae moved quickly, searching for the smell of Dib’s clothes. 

Dib didn’t see any of it at all.


	2. Tongue-Tied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for a little bit of wound discussion and referenced drug use. 
> 
> i've been sitting on this bad boy for like a month, oops lol

The ride back from the rescue mission was long and tiresome. Dib didn’t expect Tak’s ship—his ship, he had to remind himself—would make it into deep space like it had. But he guessed this was what it was made for, despite how delicate it looked. He spent a few months at this high-speed rushing to the location on his tracker, and when he arrived, he couldn’t help but feel singled-out. 

The Irken Armada was much bigger than he expected, and much more terrifying. He thought it’d be like a ton of Zims, just as determined but lacking the discipline needed to complete their goals, but he was dead wrong. The Irkens here weren’t some type of useless drone; their numbers were great, and how they acted in hive mind mentality was bone-chilling. He now understood why Zim proclaimed he was apart of the best armada in the universe —because it was. 

The mission itself took time. Dib had to find Zim, with the help of Gaz, before being bombarded with lasers and other bullets of the non-physical kind. Zim was lifeless throughout the whole ordeal, only coming too once they had escaped and he watched his whole world, his life’s purpose, disappear into the flush of streaking stars. 

Dib had never seen Zim so broken. Gaz kept pulling him away from staring, but he saw her glance too long at the alien as well: his color was drained, his pak so dull it barely glowed when the lights were off, his eyes vacant. Zim didn’t respond to noises or lights, and kept the same curled-up position on the bench by the back window. 

Exiled. Banished. Sentenced to death. 

The ship had a translator attached to the inside, and from it he derived two communication pieces for him and Gaz. He made them to find directions and understand the system, not to hear of Zim’s crimes against his people, or the verdict of exile then death. He hadn’t seen Zim cry until that moment. The tall red and purple apparent leaders at the head of the rounded room were vile, unrelinquishing any emotion as they ordered for Zim to die the slow death of his pak removed by some device of energy-sucking tendrils. Dib could gather from Zim’s remarks and the audience’s reaction it was the most unpleasant of sentences: slowly losing your own sense of self as your body-regulating device, your own personality, was pulled from your body and discarded, the ultimate insult.

Now, Zim was weak, and not just from the misery he was falling into. His pak was broken, from what Dib could inspect, and needed to be fixed. The larger top tube to Zim’s skin was warped, while the bottom was completely ripped from the flesh, hastily pushed back in by Dib when he first saw the wound while saving Zim. It was healing deformed, swooping into the skin before forming a bulge around the tube, but still healing and didn’t seem to be bothering Zim as much. At least that was a small blessing.

Gaz pulled her head up from her game system, pausing as she glanced over to Dib. His face was worry-worn, and she didn’t even need to tilt her head to see why. She huffed, standing up to move and pull Dib into the small operating room of the re-designed spaceship. 

“Dib, shut the fuck up and let me speak.” She snapped, seeing him instantly open his mouth to whine. He shut it quickly, and Gaz contiuned. “Do you think he’s going to make it?” 

“What kind of question is that?” Dib asked back, but Gaz gave him a look, putting her hand on her hip. 

“Look at him, Dib, doesn’t he look… I dunno, sick or something? He hasn’t moved, I can’t tell if he’s breathing… what if we just risked our lives for a shell of your boyfriend?”

Dib’s face flushed bright red as he looked at her, shaking his head. “H-he’s not my boyfriend, I keep fucking telling you that!” he huffed. But Gaz knew—Dib had become increasingly protective and careful around the small, annoying green ant that Gaz had to greet every other afternoon. They were always together, and the vicious arguments they used to have were now boiled down to weird talks of space and what movie to watch. Their father may think that Zim was still “just a friend,” but Gaz wasn’t as blind as her good-hearted father.

“Fine, fine, whatever, just… try to get him to do something, okay? I don’t wanna keep seeing you whimper and whine and gaggle him all trip.” 

Dib went to retort something, but Gaz had taken herself and her game system into the small bedroom, closing and locking the door. He huffed, but soon turned his attention to the small alien by the back window. Taking a deep breath, he walked over, rubbing his hands on his pants before sitting down next to him. He looked over him, frowning more at the lack of pak noises and dull glowing. Dib reached a hand over slowly, gently moving to feel Zim’s hand. 

The three-fingered hand was so small compared to Dib’s—the palm barely able to press against the top of Dib’s, his fingers slender and nail-less but making up for it with short and trimmed claw-like tips. Smiling softly, he vividly remembers feeling those claws in action when they were children, and later in life when living room kisses turned too hot and heavy. Zim had since rounded them out, making a blunt point, so his hands could run through Dib’s hair without ripping his scalp to shit. 

Hazel eyes turned upwards, looking at the face of the Irken ex-invader. Zim’s eyes were still dull, unresponsive. Slowly he moved closer, moving his hand under the limp pale green one as he started to talk. 

“You know, now you can do whatever you want…” he said softly, pulling his legs up onto the bench after kicking off his untied boots. He leaned in some, softly nuzzling Zim’s shoulder. The alien twitched some, his antennae perking up slowly, barely. At least he was listening…

“You could… travel space… or stay on Earth and learn all about humans… or even destroy it for your own sake,” Dib chuckled some, rubbing his thumb over the back of the alien’s hand. “I… don’t think I’d mind if you did anymore.” 

Zim’s face didn’t react. His hand was still limp, his face still unresponsive but his antennas slowly raising and lowering. He wasn’t sure if that was a sign of life or a symptom of brain death. Dib’s lip quivered softly—Gaz’s words were fresh in his mind, like a blade to his already weak status. He shook softly, quickly sucking in air as he moved closer, pulling Zim against his chest. 

“Please, Zim, just… just answer me. Say something…” he said, uncurling the smaller form. His hands held Zim’s face, rubbing circles over his cheeks. But the eyes were dark, the body heavy. ‘Maybe a coma? Or a sleeping state for healing?’ Dib thought, but he didn’t want to give himself false hope. 

He sniffled, feeling the worrisome tears slip from his eyes as he softly pressed his lips to Zim’s forehead, holding him as close as possible and letting the frail body heat up against his chest. 

∆∆∆

November air stung Dib’s eyes as the pillowcase full of candy and junk food was hastily stuck into his backpack. He paused, admiring the dark blue tones and tacky material—Zim had shoved the bag into his hands weeks ago, spouting off about his “ugly duck tape shitter” before pushing Dib out the door. The gift left a fuzzy feeling in his heart, as later talks showed him that Zim had made the bag himself, out of Irken fabrics, and was bulletproof, waterproof, temperature proof… Dib could probably throw it into the sun and it would come out unscathed on the other side. 

Lately, Zim had been… oddly, uncharacteristically, kind. Maybe, even, protective, if Dib wanted to get more technical. Zim was almost taking care of him in some weird, alien way. The bookbag was just one case; just the other day, Dib woke from a mid-afternoon depression nap to find Zim on his doorstep, disguised haphazardly put on, and carrying two bags of greasy fast food. He walked in like he owned the place (and he knew the layout from Dib inviting him over for monster films) and demanded Dib eat, worried since the human teen hadn’t answered text messages about where he was after classes. 

“Worried” wasn’t a term Dib ever thought he’d use for how Zim treated him, or something that Zim would proudly say he felt about the other. 

He shook from his thoughts, stuffing the sweets into the backpack before starting the slow climb to the top of the tree. It was a thick pine, massive compared to the others in the park, and where Dib and Zim had agreed to meet after each hitting different stores for discounted candy after Halloween. Dib was going to get them, but Zim demanded to go to the grocery store himself—turns out, Zim actually liked the grocery store. He found the place like a dead zone, where time stopped and people were their most authentic self, mindlessly choosing food and drinks and cheap plastic toys. Dib had laughed at him, saying he didn’t think Zim was that poetic, which started one of several thousand one-sided arguments, with Dib teasing Zim more and more until he huffed and crossed his arms. 

He was kind of cute, in that way. 

Dib paused his climb, his face turning red. Zim wasn’t cute. It was like a mantra in his head as he started back up, reaching the top. He didn’t know when these lines started blurring for him, but Dib couldn’t keep Zim out of his head. It was like every hour, every day, was focused on the tiny, angry, evil—Zim wasn’t evil—no, shut up, he was! 

His brain struggled to make heads or tails of his thoughts as he pulled himself onto the thickest branch at the top. Using the heels of his palms, Dib pushed up his circular glasses and rubbed his eyes. How was this possible? Dib was human—he should find humans attractive. He should want to be with a girl, hell, even a guy, but not an alien that was here to ruin his planet. 

But he was. He came to the realization nights ago, unable to sleep as usual. The high-dose sleeping pills that were prescribed to him—and, occasionally, not, if he got desperate enough— weren’t being refilled until the next Monday, and he was stuck alone with his thoughts. He knew he should get up, go and watch TV or play a game or something else other than sit with his rushing head. There was so much to think about: Zim’s gift of unknown technology to humans; the way one the night that Zim came over for movies, he pressed into Dib’s side to “keep warm”; how there was this soft flutter in Dib’s chest every time he looked at Zim deep in work, his eyes focused on something other than him. 

Their closeness has grown. Dib was sure that Zim felt something other than hate towards him as his actions proved. They were something along with lines of friends now, Dib thought, as Zim and him regularly went to each other's houses, went out, and talked. Zim even purchased a “shitty human phone” just to talk to Dib. There… was nothing more, right? Just friends… 

“You look like you’re about to puke,” Zim mumbled, carrying a bag of candy and a greasy Gir. 

Dib looked out, caught off-guard by Zim’s silent approach. His spider legs were holding him up by tree branches as he climbed over, sitting besides Dib and settling down Gir in a nest of pine needles and branches before handing him a take-out bag. 

“He didn’t want to be home. Watched some of those stupid horror thingys on TV,” Zim explained, using a spindley spider leg to hold his bag open on the branch. 

Dib looked at Gir, pushing off the green dog face, and started pushing the burrito into his mouth. “I didn’t think robots got scared.” 

“Gir’s a special case, he’s the highest Irken technology! He has more of a personality given his makeup.”

“Wouldn’t that… hinder him in battle?” 

“Nonsense! Gir is good for Zim, and does what he’s supposed to… most of the time.” 

Dib chuckled, opening his bag and starting to unpack a box of caramels. “So….” he mumbled, glancing over at Zim fumbling with the wrapper of a lemon candy.

Zim looked over, popping it into his mouth. “What?” he asked, his antenna perking up like cat ears. Dib grinned—cat ears. On Zim. 

“I-I just… I didn’t expect you to want to come all the way up here for candy,” he said quickly, chewing another piece. 

“Yeah, yeah, well, Zim saw the TV said that this type of thing was good for, uh…” he waved his hand around, trying to find the words. “Being close to someone? The TV said it was a romantic ritual.” 

Dib paused, taking more than a few seconds to gather his thoughts. He looked over slowly, his face somewhere between the paleness of shock and the bright blush of embarrassment. “You know romance is, like, for couples?” 

“Aren’t we a couple? We are two individuals who are around each other a lot,” he said, nodding. “And we eat together and go out together. We are what the movies say two people do.” 

“No, Zim, y-you know what that means? A couple? Romance?” 

“Kind of… Zim is not good with human emotions. It’s the one with hanging out and video games.” 

“That… makes no sense,” Dib said softly, rubbing his face. “Okay, okay, do… do Irkens, uh, have people they live with for a long time? That they… sleep with or fight besides or something?” 

Zim thought. “No. Irkens don’t have the need for partners or groups. We do everything by ourselves, most of the time. Are you talking about a war regime?” 

“No, I’m not. And if what you’re telling me is true… then we can’t be. Romantic, that is. You can’t… have those feelings for me. Romance means you are close to someone and you want to be with them all the time—”

“But we are—” 

“It’s not that same, Zim. This is… deeper. It’s a deep thing for humans. We don’t usually take it lightly.” Zim still didn’t seem to understand. It was Dib’s turn to wave his hand and dismiss it. The feeling of defeat was heavy in his chest; he knew, logically, they wouldn't be anything. They were different species, and Zim knew more about the world in his lifetime than Dib would ever learn in his. It was a truth he knew, yet the pain of the full context was still there. “It’s fine… it’s fine. Just… we’re not romantic, okay?” 

The stars clung bright to the sky as Dib looked up, not noticing the look of confusion over Zim’s face—possibly even regret. Maybe Dib hadn’t been clear enough or something. If he explained more… maybe Zim would get it. He didn’t have the strength to talk, though, as he felt the new feeling in his chest shutter and shrink… but not die. 

∆∆∆

Zim curled up against the plush pillows of the bed, his gloves and boots removed and sitting by the bottom of the bed. Dib was over on his computer, the multiple screens showing different papers, websites, links. Zim didn’t understand why Dib needed all these tabs open, but the words “college paper” and “due soon” were common in Dib’s recent vocabulary. He didn’t have time to play around with Zim as much now, and as Dib was an hour away at some high-tech university in another city on something called a “full ride,” Zim had to find ways to entertain himself while he missed Dib. 

Which led to now. They had fought on the phone—Zim wanting to come over, Dib arguing he needed quiet to work, Zim saying he’s been gone for a while, Dib saying he didn’t have control over it—but eventually Zim had won. With a promise to keep quiet, he sat and watched Dib while he typed and clicked, his clothes from school thrown into the laundry chute as he wore a loose t-shirt of Mothman and sweatpants. He looked deep in concentration, focused, as he wrote about some human thingy Zim didn’t make heads or tails of. Something about modern-day obsession with unapologetic politicians and the connection to the fear of AIs….

Red eyes—disguise left a crumpled mess on his book bag—scanned Dib’s bedroom. Old posters of zombies and monsters clung to the walls, hanging by barely-tacky tape. The sheets of the bed half on, half off the bed; the pattern was dark blue, with small stereotypical aliens over the comforter. The basket in the corner of the room was full of clean clothes Dib hadn’t yet put away, and the trashcan was slowly becoming over-run with convenient store burger wrappings as the long nights of studying took their toll on the anti-chef Dib.

He could never stop the flutter that made his segmented chest plates vibrate. 

Zim quickly bit his tongue to halt the onslaught of soft purrs. He was an invader, he didn’t purr like a little newborn Irken or an Earth cat. It would be weakness—weakness in the face of the 5 o’clock shadowed nerd who’s unkempt hair was drooping down his scalp in soft clumps, hazel eyes focused on soft blue screens that made his glasses glow. 

The more Zim stared, the more his body wanted to climb into Dib’s lap, curl up against the broad chest and sleep. Zim had become a big fan of sleeping as long as Dib was close, and his favorite spot was when Dib would put his head on top of his and pull his body against that chest. Zim was slowly getting used to human anatomy. Dib had changed a lot since his first encounter on Earth: his hair was longer; his body taller and fuller; his face growing angular; his limbs long and strong with faint scars, able to carry Zim around like he was the little pig Gaz had gotten for her 17th birthday. 

Now, he looked more… something. Zim couldn’t put his finger on it. His face looked almost sick, having been sitting at the desk for a good eight hours already, but Zim found it… nice? Dib was tall and dedicated, and although they both knew he probably didn't need to put so much work into this essay, Dib was determined to keep his "full ride" and make his father proud. The odd sentiment made Zim feel something. His chest fluttered against before he slapped a hand to it, pausing the purr before it could start. 

Zim didn’t need people. Or, at least, he was taught that from the beginning of his life He was an Irken, and Irkens didn’t have anything close to “mates.” The term was foreign on Zim’s lips. Irkens had long since moved past the need for them—their make-up was created by a computer, made in labs, and grown in nurseries. While other species, like humans, had these lifelong partners or multiple over their life all for having company and children, Irkens had found their way around such things with science. 

But Dib made him question it. Zim felt the way his chest puffed up in adoration when Dib complimented him. The purring, which was becoming more and more common as they stayed together, was a factor Zim couldn’t get over—he couldn’t remember the last time he purred like an infant Irken. The way Dib’s soft breaths and big hands made the tiny alien feel safe in his arms. There was this quality to Dib that made him want to slow down—and Irkens didn’t slow down. It wasn’t in Irken nature. 

His pak softly breathed, whirling around the air in his body as he took a tentative step towards the chair. His feet felt colder on the wooden floors, but he kept on the path and silently walked. By the time he reached Dib’s side, he could hear the soft sighs of irritation as he keyed in some words. By the looks of his document, Dib was well onto his 17th page of a 25-page essay. Zim could read it, as his English had gotten better over time, just as Dib could now understand Irken writing. His pronunciation was trash, but he still tried. Zim’s heart (or what he envisioned after so many years on Earth despite lacking the biology) melted at the soft way he would click his tongue, trying to get the same sound Zim made yet his vocal cords were a bit too loose to get it right. 

Zim never imagined in his life he'd be teaching some alien his language. Nor that he would begin to speak it, a bit simple and mandune, to said alien as they ate and studied the stars. Hearing the familiar clicks and snaps of his mother tongue was comforting, especially when Dib was so focused on getting it right. It was like having a piece of his homeworld closer than it ever had been on his travels—possibly closer than his own people when he tried to speak to them. 

Hands on the blanket he had pulled with him, Zim quickly snuck under Dib’s arm, crawling into the space on his lap. Dib jerked, but didn’t push him off, as the green ant-like being wrapped the blanket around him and Dib’s chest. Slowly, a bulky arm secured him against the human chest, and the soft purring—muffed by the thick and plush blanket—began again. There was a content and complacent sigh as Dib rested his head on Zim’s, his other arm wrapping around the alien.

At that moment, Zim closed his eyes and dozed off. 

∆∆∆

Zim knew, logically, that Irkens were solitary creatures.

They were born alone. They didn’t have partners for missions, with Sirs being unfeeling technology that usually didn’t have that many “emotions.” They didn’t go to schooling for very long unless it was for something that was outside of their pak’s data. All in all, Zim had grown accustomed to living by himself because he knew this was the way things were supposed to be. 

He didn’t anticipate a human would change all of this. 

As the days came and went and seasons blurred into each other, Zim’s inability to spend time alone was becoming clear. Eating by himself felt like a task that he normally didn’t think twice about. His lab felt empty when it was only him and Gir there and even emptier when the small Sir unit was upstairs watching TV. Zim missed Dib’s presence: his typing on his laptop; his chatter as they bicker back and forth about whatever; and even his smell. 

Zim missed his smell the most—it was the most authentic scent Zim knew, and when Dib was gone did his antennae really notice how metallic his world was. His body ached for it, and when Dib came over, he always found a way to sneak in too close, taking in how his clothes were like chemically summer rain detergent and his hair like stuffy gel. These smells didn’t exist anywhere else in Zim’s world except with Dib. 

Glancing at the digital clock ticking to 3am, Zim pulled himself out of his thoughts and away from the device under his hands. The metal had warped wrong while Zim was preoccupied thinking. He grumbled and stripped off the heat-resistance gloves and face shield, moving to pull on the magenta hoodie Gaz had thrown at him from her window after an incident in the rain (RE: Zim screaming about the water on her front lawn) and left the dim lab. 

The main floor was bright with colors as Zim walked past the TV, Gir waving him off as he exited the house. Things had changed a lot in the time Dib started coming over. The main floor was layouted completely different to replicate human homes, and the outside was more clean. He walked down the street, slowly slipping into the residential area of surrounding neighborhoods. He knew where to go, having walked this same path time and time again.

When he stood outside, he could see Dib’s computer screens in the windows, the light blue shines outlining the soft figure of the 20 year old. He looked ghostly, and Zim smiled softly, remembering how Dib drove them two hours away to run around in a haunted woods for hours just last week. Zim wasn’t scared of ghosts, but it still was… fun? Originally he was worried he’d hate it, but watching Dib so enthusiastically record everything and talk so soft and deep—it was something new for him. 

A few texts later and Dib was wandering downstairs, changed from lazy day pajamas to jeans and a hoodie. He smiled, his hair un-fixed and pulled back with a hair tie. “So… you came all this way for fast food? You don’t even like burgers.” 

Zim shrugged, turning to point to the park. “And the park.” 

“And the park,” Dib smiled. He came closer, a whole head taller than Zim. His face was soft and cleanly-shaved, his glasses slightly crooked still after so many fixes. Zim instantly felt this obligation to bow, an instinct rooted in his pak, but fought the urge to move a little closer to lay his head against Dib’s chest. The taller male chuckled, pulling him closer. 

“If you just wanted to hang out or something you could have just asked,” he mumbled into Zim’s hood-covered head. 

Zim blushed a deep emerald and gripped his sleeves, unable to respond back. Dib was so warm, and he smelled like pine and spices. There was no doubt that Dib had been having trouble sleeping, since he was still up and he even smelled tired. His body was loose as he held Zim, and part of Zim wanted to pull Dib to his own place, and curl up with him under his own roof, away from the streetlights and screens and college studies to just be alone with him. 

Zim wanted to stop time, right here. 

He hid his face in the other’s chest for a while, both seemingly content to stand together in the dim light of 3am. It took a while before Dib pulled back, and Zim bit on his tongue to stop the whine that crept up his throat. “So… food and then the park?” he asked, looking down at the green alien.

Nodding, the two started walking down to the 7/11 on the corner a few blocks over, Dib holding Zim’s hand like it didn’t bother him—like the three-fingered hold of Zim’s little palm was better than being in his own hoodie pocket. It always shocked Zim how open Dib was in public now. He didn’t hide his smiles anymore, or the soft way he talked.

The short walk was paused by quickly grabbing chips and drinks from the convenient store before Zim and Dib were sitting in their secret spot up in the grand tree. Like last Halloween, they wedged themselves into the comfortable crook of the branches and opened bags of treats and cans of soda. The stars glimmered brighter out here away from the city, the moon a sharp contrast to the dark sky. 

Red eyes reflected the moon before looking over at Dib. He was relaxed, now, and his body was loose against the thick support of the branches. Zim scooted closer, laying his head on Dib’s shoulder in the similar fashion to how Dib would when he spent the night at Zim’s. The human glanced over before letting his cheek smush against the hooded head beside him.

Dib sighed softly, looking over and making shapes with his fingers in the air. “Do you think humans will ever be able to reach out there?” he asked, sipping his cherry coke. 

“It’s… possible,” Zim muttered, a bit irritated. He liked the quiet of this night, but over the years Dib became more talkative. “I don’t think they’ll survive out there without guidance, but they could go there.” 

Dib nodded, slowly moving to hold Zim’s hand. “Do you think… we could go there?” 

Zim’s fingers curled around Dib’s palm. “I… would you want to?” 

“Yeah…” he hummed, leaning back some. “I… don’t want to be here anymore. I mean, I don’t mind Earth, but… I just don’t feel like I belong, I guess. High school made me realize that but college? I feel like I’m not even the same species as them.” 

Nodding, Zim leaning against him again, taking in his warmth and shape. “Then… we’ll leave. I know of some places that would be more than accepting.” 

Dib nodded, then paused. Looking up, Dib was biting on his lip, his eyes a bit distant as he thought. Zim wanted to tell him to spit out whatever was bothering him, but Dib opened his mouth first. 

“S-so then… what does that, uh, make us?” 

Zim had a vague understanding of the implications. He’d been doing research on humans, especially after nearly a decade of being stuck on Earth; especially after getting the word and idea wrong time and time again. Human romance was a strange topic for him, having no relation to these types of feelings… normally. Being an Irken, they don’t usually have emotions that would compare, but Zim was starting to feel like he was… broken?

Humans loved deeply, Irkens obeyed deeply. The contrast was the end goal—humans wanted attention and company while Irkens wanted recognition and honor. Zim, however, didn’t feel the same about obeying anymore. At least… he didn’t want to be only honored. 

He wanted to be adored the way human couples would hold each other close and slowly develop deep and lasting connections with their partner. The way that movies showed the soft looks of appreciation and how they grew together. They started families, with pets or children or business, and their daily life began to reflect each other’s goals and schedule. At first, he thought the concept was silly, but now? 

It was like clockwork how Zim started to know when Dib was back from college. His body knew before he did that he was heading upstairs for the door with Dib waiting, tired as ever. The soft way Dib breathed as he napped in the sleeping chamber, and how Zim felt wrong if he left before the other woke up in a few hours. The walk to the convenient store for snacks and drinks before staying up late to work—Dib on projects and essays, Zim on his ship or new device—and then passing out on the couch by 5am, feeling weightless as Dib held Zim’s little body against his chest while he slept before leaving for classes. 

These little changes grew on him over the time, and now being lonely was something he could actually feel rather than a human concept he read about. His base felt empty by himself, his world too dim, and he didn’t know if this feeling in his chest at the question was one of positive or negative emotions.

Dib looked nervous and Zim moved closer, playing with his hand. 

“I-I… I think I want what you want…” Zim mumbled.


End file.
